


Someone Still Loves You

by galerian_ash



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - The Winter Soldier
Genre: Crying, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, Post-TWS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 18:49:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1560455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galerian_ash/pseuds/galerian_ash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve offers to help cut Bucky's hair. Things go downhill from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someone Still Loves You

**Author's Note:**

> I finally got to see TWS, and even though I had told myself I wouldn't write anything until the DVD came out, I just had to get this outta my head. Hope you enjoy! :)
> 
> The title is borrowed from a line in "Radio Ga Ga" by Queen.

"Bucky, hey... What are you doing?"

Steve's voice was off somehow, enough for Bucky to stop dead in his tracks. He looked up, studying the man he'd once known. He was moving slowly towards Bucky, each movement carefully measured and signaled — a painfully obvious tactic, no doubt meant to keep him at ease.

"Bucky?"

"What?"

Steve gestured towards his hand. "What's with the knife?"

"My hair is in the way." Question adequately answered, Bucky turned back towards the bathroom door.

"Wait, you're gonna cut your hair — with a knife?" The way Steve said it made it sound like it was something unthinkable and utterly strange.

Maybe it _was_ strange. Frowning, Bucky hesitated as he absently flipped the knife.

"I can do it for you, if you'll let me."

Steve had come up, close, to stand right in front of him. He raised his hand slowly, palm up. And oh, Bucky knew better than to hand a weapon to a potential threat — he might as well plunge the knife into himself and be done with it, if he were to do something as stupid as that.

But this was Steve, the man who kept showing an unwarranted trust in _him_. Steve had gone off the grid for his sake, renting a place in the middle of nowhere until, as he'd put it, Bucky got his feet back under him.

It was no small thing, to willingly live together with someone who'd tried to kill you. Whatever past they had shared was gone; Bucky's memories remained elusive. There were confusing flashes and distorted dreams, yes, but nothing that truly held fast — every time he reached for them they crumbled in his grip.

So it made no sense for Steve to trust him. He'd thought it a ruse at first, and had crept into Steve's bedroom one late night to test his theory. But no matter how threateningly he'd loomed over the bed, Steve had kept snoring softly — and no one had burst through the doors to defend their sleeping hero.

All things considered, Bucky owed him some sort of reciprocity.

Insides screaming, he handed the knife over. Steve smiled — a foolish, _proud_ smile, as if he understood just how much it'd cost him. Something inside of Bucky ached at the sight of that unexpected warmth, prompting him to quickly look away.

Perhaps sensing his discomfort, Steve stepped away. "Take a seat, I'll be right back," he said.

Bucky did as told.

Steve returned after a moment, a pair of scissors in his hand. He held it by the blades, which would make it awkward — if not downright impossible — to use for stabbing.

"How short would you like it?"

"Don't care." A thought hit him, and he added, "If you want, you can make it look like it used to."

He'd thought that would please Steve, but it only earned a frown. "This isn't about me, Bucky. It's your hair and it should be the way you want it."

He had no answer to that. After a few minutes of silence, Steve gripped the scissors properly — slowly, right in front of Bucky's eyes — before moving to stand behind him.

He tried to force himself to disconnect from the touch, to not think about how gentle Steve was being. It was difficult to do so; he'd never been touched like that before, and he found himself wishing Steve would just grab fistfuls of his hair and yank it out by the roots. It would've been less painful than the chaotic swirl of emotions that the fingers carefully combing through his hair brought up.

Then Steve moved to his side, and there was a glint of metal in his peripheral vision. He just barely managed to keep still, but he couldn't help stiffening and breathing harder.

Of course, Steve noticed. He dropped the scissors to the ground like they'd burned him, and kneeled down in front of Bucky.

There was nothing but sincerity in his blue eyes. "I won't hurt you, Bucky."

It was such an odd thing to say. He was the Winter Soldier — pain was an integral part of who he was, and it mattered little what people did to him. But Steve wasn't talking to _him_ , was he? Not really.

"Who was he to you?" he whispered. He hadn't really meant to ask, which was worrying — it signaled a serious lapse of control.

Steve looked sad. "Not he, _you_. You're him, Bucky, and he's you."

"Would he have been prepared, hand already fisted, to crush your trachea if you'd made one false move with those scissors?"

"He would've gone after me; would've jumped from that helicarrier to get me out of the water."

He hadn't realized that Steve had known that. At a loss for words, Bucky didn't answer.

Steve remained kneeling, like he was waiting for something. He was so close; if Bucky bent forward just a little, he could...

And there it was, the impulse, clear as day — the urge to kiss Steve.

He didn't know where it came from and therefore it had to be something true, some forgotten part of his old self. Because everything the Winter Soldier did had been ordered; no impulse or feeling involved.

Wanting to grab the chance before it was too late, desperate to show Steve — and perhaps himself — that Steve's belief in him wasn't misplaced, he surged forward.

Their noses bumped together, teeth clattering — and Steve jerked back at the first touch of Bucky's lips, eyes wide.

He'd been wrong.

Not wanting to see Steve, he squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm sorry," he forced out, "I was wrong."

"W-what? No, Bucky, you're not-"

"It never happened before," Bucky said, cutting him off. "So it was wrong."

"Hey... Look at me, please?"

Bucky opened his eyes, but he refused to meet Steve's gaze. Instead he got to his feet and walked to his bedroom. He closed the door with what he hoped was finality.

Steve didn't pick up on it. He was knocking on the door before even a minute had passed.

"Come on, open up. Please, Bucky?"

The door wasn't locked, and even if it had been Steve could've broken it down with ease. Yet Bucky knew, somehow, that he wouldn't enter unless given permission.

After a while, a soft thud came from the door. "I hope you'll listen to me, at least." His voice was a bit more muffled, and that — coupled with the thud — made Bucky suspect he'd leaned forward until his forehead smacked against the door.

"You're right," Steve continued, "it never happened before. But..." he trailed off, prompting Bucky to move closer to the door. He wanted to hear whatever it was Steve had to say, and didn't want to risk missing it if his next words were spoken quietly.

"But that doesn't mean I haven't _wanted_ it to happen."

Swallowing, Bucky reached for the door handle. His fingers brushed against the metal when a heavy sigh came from the other side, and Steve spoke again. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to push — you want me to back off, I will."

Bucky let his arm fall as he listened to Steve's receding footsteps.

\----

A few hours into the night, Bucky opened the door and crept out.

He walked to Steve's room, a strange mixture of anger and sadness coiling in his gut when he saw that the door had been left wide open.

Eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could easily make out Steve's form under the blanket. Reassured that he was indeed asleep, Bucky walked inside. He leaned against the wall, slowly slipping down it until he was sitting on the floor. Knees drawn up to his chest, he closed his eyes and let Steve's deep breathing lull him to sleep.

\----

"Bucky."

He was awake in an instant, cursing at himself for being so damn stupid. He'd not only let down his guard completely, but had also gotten caught doing so. Had he still been with Hydra, he would've faced severe punishment for his lack of judgment — and deservedly so.

"Easy, Buck, easy," Steve said. "It's just me."

Forcing his body to relax, Bucky nodded.

"I'm sorry for waking you. It's just — you looked so cold. I wanted to give you a blanket, but I didn't want to spook you."

 _Cold_. Just that mere word flooded his mind with flashes of being frozen, time and time again, alone and pathetically scared and so very cold.

He must've zoned out, for Steve was suddenly next to him. Not touching, but close enough that Bucky could feel the heat radiating from his body.

It helped, a little.

"I'm so sorry," Steve whispered, head bent low.

Bucky didn't understand what he was apologizing for, but it didn't matter. There were words, crowded in his throat and making it hard to breathe. "I think I had dreams, sometimes."

Steve looked up. "Yeah?" he prompted. His voice was shaky, like he was on the verge of crying.

"Nothing detailed, just a feeling of not being alone anymore — of someone being there with me, keeping me warm and holding on to me."

" _Jesus_ , Bucky..."

For a moment it really did seem like he was about to cry, and Bucky wished he'd just kept his mouth shut. Then Steve took a deep breath, raising his head to look straight at him.

"Will you trust me?"

Hesitating briefly, Bucky nodded.

Steve slowly reached out, gripping his hands. He got to his feet, pulling Bucky up with him.

Bucky let himself be led to the bed, heart racing when Steve gestured for him to get under the blanket. But he did as asked, and stayed put even when Steve lay down beside him.

"Is this okay?" Steve asked, as he put an arm across Bucky's chest.

He had never been so close to another human being before. As terrifying as it was, Bucky felt almost safe — just like in his dreams.

He couldn't quite seem to catch his breath, and his eyesight was getting blurry. Wanting something he couldn't even understand himself, he turned on his side to face Steve. Immediately, Steve pulled him closer.

"Shh," Steve crooned, as he slowly stroked Bucky's back.

It hurt, felt like he was going to fall apart. But Steve held on; held him together.

When the worst sobbing had subsided, Steve let his hand drift up to wipe away the tears. His touch was infinitely gently, and Bucky couldn't help leaning into it.

Smiling softly, Steve pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Get some sleep, Bucky. I'll be right here when you wake up."

Feeling warm and protected and _loved_ for the first time, Bucky buried his face in the hollow of Steve's throat. He was asleep within minutes.


End file.
